


The Dark Room

by May_Showers



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Mental Anguish, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Showers/pseuds/May_Showers
Summary: You've been smitten with Mr. Jefferson ever since your first class. You daydreamed about spending alone time with him, and entering in the Everyday Heroes contest gave you the perfect opportunity. However, you'd soon understand to  be careful what you wish for.-----This is the first fic I've ever written, so any feedback would be appreciated! I don't plan on this being a very long story, but if I get struck with some sudden inspiration I might change my mind. Also, read the tags; this stuff may be uncomfortable for some. Everyone else, enjoy!~
Relationships: Mark Jefferson/Original Character(s), Mark Jefferson/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

You knew coming to this party was a mistake as soon as you walked through the door. 

The deep, hypnotic pulsing of techno music rolled through the room, bouncing off the walls like an invisible tidal wave of sound. Swirling lights patterned with the Vortex Club logo wheeled about every surface, almost instantly making you dizzy. You already felt drunk and you hadn't even had a sip of alcohol yet.

You surveyed the thick crowd of young adults, most of whom were half naked and presumably doped out of their minds. You couldn't see a single familiar face in the crowd of jostling bodies. The only reason you were here was to see your friend Melissa who had begged you to come down for days, and finally, after the fiftieth desperate plea, your patience broke and you agreed to come. How typical that after all that she wouldn't even show.

However, there was one silver lining to the situation. The music was suddenly lowered to a background throb, causing a few boos to erupt from the crowd. A lean, well-dressed figure took the stage, and you felt your heart skip a beat. 

The silky, deep voice which drifted through the room belonged to your favourite teacher and lifelong role model, Mark Jefferson, whom you had developed a crush on ever since your first class. Even before your acceptance at Blackwell you'd thought he was a handsome man, whose work was revered by not only yourself, but the whole art world. Being taught by him was a privelege you did not take lightly. 

However, you felt your stomach tighten anxiously as you realised why he was on stage. 

"I'm up here because I have the pleasure of announcing the winner of the Everyday Heroes contest," he beamed, and you felt a hot crimson blush burn across your face. Now you remembered why you didn't want to come. You'd entered into the contest reluctantly, knowing you would never win against the queen of Blackwell Academy herself, Victoria Chase. You could tell she had the hots for Jefferson, and it made your blood boil every time she leaned over his desk, perking up her scrawny little ass as if displaying herself for him. Imagining her spending alone time with Jefferson in your place made you ball your fists up in anger.

However, you resigned yourself to listening. You were here whether you liked it or not. 

"I'd like to thank everyone who entered, and those who though about entering," he remarked, casting a glance over at a mousey-haired girl who looked out of place in the sea of party-goers. "The envelope, if you please!"

A bikini-clad teenager ran up onto stage, handing him a small white envelope before scurrying away again. 

"The winner of the Ordinary Heroes contest is..." 

He silently fingered open the envelope and retrieved the paper inside, and you could've sworn a small smile curled his lips. He leaned toward the microphone and exclaimed, "Y/N!!"

You let out a lungful of breath you didn't know you were holding. Your jaw hung ajar as people cheered around you, a few people giving you hearty slaps on the back. Mr Jefferson's steely eyes connected with yours from across the room, and you wanted the moment to last forever.

Me? For real?

And just as soon as the moment began, it ended. The speakers resumed pumping music, the crowd continued their erratic dancing, and Mr Jefferson offered a few closing words which were drowned out by the chaos in the room. 

You still couldn't believe you won. You cracked a dazed smile to yourself as you realised what that meant. It wouldn't be Victoria spending all that time alone with Jefferson- it would be you. You felt a flutter in your stomach at the thought. A second, stronger twist erupted in your stomach as you saw the crowd part and Jefferson himself emerge, carrying two red solo cups in his lithe hands. 

"Y/N, there you are!" He smiled. "I wanted to congratulate you on your win!"

"Wow, Mr. Jefferson, I- I don't know what to say," you beamed back, voice raised slightly so he could hear you over the rest of the noise. "I honestly didn't think it would be me!"

"Here, how about we go somewhere where there's a bit less noise." He gestured to a door behind you with one of the striking red cups. You quickly navigated through the crowd, eager to talk to Mr. Jefferson more privately. You noticed a furious-looking Victoria staring daggers your way, but you ignored her as you pushed through the door into the cool outside air. 

Mr. Jefferson followed close behind, making sure to shut the door behind him with his elbow. You were at the rear of the building, the only company being a drunk couple who were sloppily making out behind a sparsely-covered bush.

"Oh, almost forgot," he remarked as he offered one of the cups with an outstretched arm. "A celebratory drink. Alcohol-free of course," he winked. 

You smiled and accepted the drink, making eye contact with him as you took a greedy gulp. It was fruity, with an odd aftertaste, but you put it down to the chlorine in the air.

"I just wanted to say how proud I am. That photo you took was really something. The lighting, the composition, all on point. I can really tell you've been listening in class," he chuckled. 

You blushed slightly, running a finger along the ridges of your plastic cup. "I definitely took a little influence from your techniques." You paused, looking down into your cup. "Okay, maybe a lot of influence."

"But that's great! It shows you're learning," he rebuttled soothingly, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. 

The two of you chatted for what felt like hours. The muffled booming of music in the background paired with the chirping of crickets from the nearby brush was a dreamy scene, and you felt your eyelids grow heavier with each throb of the bass. You shook your head slightly to try and dispel the growing fog in your head, but it just came back stronger. You tried to keep the conversation going, but your words were slurred and your tongue felt out of place in your mouth. You blinked, and suddenly your head was spinning violently, and you felt your body fall forward into Mr. Jefferson's arms. You tried to grab onto him but your limbs were heavy and growing increasingly unresponsive. 

"Hey, hey, Y/N, you alright?" His voice sounded distant. 

He continued to speak, but you couldn't understand a word he said through the murk. You felt yourself slipping, and before you knew it you were out cold.


	2. Chapter 2

You felt your body being jostled slightly, your head lolling, neck limp and lifeless. You could feel the dryness of your mouth, and the dry, crusted saliva that adorned your chin. You peeled your eyelids apart, vision swimming and head whirling with vertigo. You appeared to be in the backseat of a car. Light from passing streetlights flashed intermittently throughout the interior of the car, and you almost tricked yourself into thinking you were back at the party, eyes dazzled by strobe lights. The throbbing of your head imitated the distant boom of techno music.

As you slowly regained consciousness, you attempted to move your limbs, but found they were bound together with a thick layer of duct tape. You squirmed in discomfort, the sticky inner layer of the tape pulling sharply at the hairs on your wrists and ankles. Panic began to blossom in your chest as you began to realise your predicament. How did you end up here? Had you been drugged? Where was Mr. Jefferson?

An involuntary whine of panic escaped your lips, catching the attention of the driver. A hand crept from the front of the car, finding a place to rest on your fleshy inner thigh. You let out another strangled cry, earning a sharp pinch from the unknown hand. You struggled again as your heart pumped aggressively against your ribcage.

What's happening? Where are you driving to? Who's hand is that?

You wanted to ask a million questions, but you could barely manage to swallow, let alone form a coherent sentence. You felt the direction of the car change, and the speed decrease until you had fully stopped.

Are we here? Where is here? 

The hand removed itself from your thigh, and you heard the driver open the door and exit the vehicle, the loud slam of the car door sending a shiver up your spine. You tried again to move. The duct tape pinched at your skin but you ignored in attempt to gain back control over your muscles. However, before you could make any significant advancements, the door closest to your head popped open, allowing a rush of chill air to envelop your body. Goosebumps prickled across your skin as another shiver raced up your spine.

Above you, a familiar silhouette appeared, haloed in the light of a streetlight high above. The silhouette dropped down to just above your face, close enough for your eyes to focus. Above you, the familiar face of Mark Jefferson hovered, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. Your face mirrored the moment you were announced as the winner of the contest; surprise, shock, and confusion most of all. You didn't understand. Why was Mr. Jefferson here?

"Awake are we?" he cooed, slipping a hand under your head. "Look at those big, soft eyes. Let's save your energy for when we get there, okay?"

Before you could muster up the energy to speak, he tilted your head to the side, exposing your pale neck. A sharp pain shot through you, and you realised too late you'd been stabbed with a needle. You cried out, and you blinked a hot tear from the corner of your eye. You felt again that you were slipping, your vision blurring and spinning erratically. Yet again, you were knocked out cold.


End file.
